The Fashion of Passion
I saw a girl whose legs were spangled,
They were so long that they easily tangled.
And when she wore her high heeled shoes,
She was a package no man could refuse.
Because when she walked she started to sway,
And set things in motion just the right way.
Lines of young men will stare as she passes,
Hoping for a smile or a bat of her lashes.
But the beautiful girl can’t stop to flirt,
Because her shoes make her feet hurt.
And all she wants is to walk in bare feet,
So when each day ended she’d always retreat.
Off came her shoes when she entered the door.
Because of the pain that she couldn’t ignore.
She’d rub her feet with a smile on her face,
Remembering how well she’d run the day’s race.
The look in their eyes gave her great satisfaction,
She’d received the rewards of each man’s reaction.
Alone in her room she’d sit with her prize,
Her two feet swollen to the next larger size.
I’m not sure which ones are more confused,
The girl herself or the men that she’d used,
To me it seems that she’s playing a game,
And when she wins it she’s alone and lame.
I don’t really get just why she’d play,
What dividends can it possibly pay?
I guess it depends on defining your passion,
And I’ve never been one to understand fashion.
For the Genius or Criminal? contest
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